


At Your Service, Grandmaster

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Electricity, M/M, Oral Sex, Politics, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Service Top (attempted)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 19:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14362488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Thor isn't great at submission, but the Grandmaster likes him all the same.





	At Your Service, Grandmaster

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Artist Credit For The Grandmaster's Cock](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/371718) by Secretsofcygnus. 



> Anonymous: Would you be willing to write some Thor/Grandmaster? Not bothered about the context but I’d love to see service top Thor with power bottom En Dwi. Pls and thanks

“Let me give you a choice,” the Grandmaster says, and he steps a little closer, looking down at Thor: his hands are on his hips, pressing down on the fabric of his robes, and when he looks down at Thor, his eyes catch the light. They’re a bright, shining yellow, like the syrup of Iðunn’s golden plums, and they are full of an otherworldly intelligence – despite his irritation at being caught, _trapped_ so, Thor knows he can’t exactly afford to underestimate this man, particularly when he’s just seen him _melt_ a man in front of him. His own cousin, no less!

“Grandmaster,” Loki says, but the Grandmaster stops his silver tongue in its tracks, one hand upon Loki’s chest. He seems confident and comfortable in touching Loki and, more damningly, Loki seems confident and comfortable in _being_ touched. Loki shoots his brother a glare, and from his place slightly behind the Grandmaster, Loki shrugs his shoulders and gives Thor an expression he knows all too well: _Well, what else was I supposed to do?_ And, as usual, Thor’s answer is the same, but will go unsaid: _Literally anything other than what you did._

“I can send you down to the arena, let you face my champion… Or you can face me.” Face _him_?

“On the proving ground?” Thor asks, and the Grandmaster laughs, darkly.

“O _ho_ – you like a big audience, huh? I can see that.” Behind the Grandmaster, Loki’s eyes are wide, a heat rising in his cheeks, but Thor doesn’t have time to worry about Loki right now: Thor leans forwards as much as he can, looking up at the Grandmaster with lidded eyes and parted lips, feigning as much desire as he can. If this man wishes to proposition him, then Thor will simply have to acquiesce – he doesn’t have time to waste, and seduction seems quicker than a tournament.

“The only audience I need is _you_ , Grandmaster,” he says, lowly, huskily. The Grandmaster exhales, slowly, and then he smiles. Loki’s indignation is plain on his face.

“Topaz, have him taken to the blue room.” Thor feels the chair release him, and he rolls his shoulders experimentally, pulling himself out of the chair. “What? He’s pretty.”

“He’s my brother, Grandmaster.”

“Adopted, you said!”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Loki says, with the most _ridiculously_ dramatic expression of hurt on his face that Thor has ever seen, and then he turns on his heel, his cape making an audible flutter of sound ( _made with magic alone, Thor is certain)_ as he walks away.

“Loki! Come on, where are you going?”

Thor allows the two soldiers to take him by each arm, and he walks between them with a slight smirk pulling at his lips. His brother is obscene, traitorous and, as ever, _deeply_ funny _._ Thor has no doubt that Loki’s dramatic exit is calculated to curry some later favour with this mad tyrant, but it matters little.

Once he is brought into the blue room (a room made entirely, it seems, of padded, beddable surfaces), Thor begins to strip off his clothes, throwing his armour aside. This will hardly be the first time Thor has lain with someone simply to curry political favour – many of the women at the court of Alfheim have known his touch, and many women at other courts. Men, admittedly, Thor has bedded in much smaller quantities, but he has no doubt of his own capabilities.

“I’m so sorry about that,” the Grandmaster purrs as he enters the room, the door closing behind him. “Loki, he’s such a—” Thor grabs the other man by the hair, pulling him into a crushing kiss, his lips brushing over the Grandmaster’s, his tongue playing over his lower lip and teasing at the sensitive skin, and the Grandmaster lets out a shuddering gasp as Thor pulls his head back a little further, letting their mouths full.

“Let’s keep the discussion of my brother to a minimum, shall we?” Thor murmurs, and the Grandmaster chuckles, pushing Thor back. He’s surprisingly strong, his wiry form sporting an unseen musculature, and Thor takes a few steps toward the nearest bed-like surface, catching hold of the Grandmaster’s hips and pulling him closer.

“Ah ah ah,” the Grandmaster murmurs, and he fists his hand in Thor’s hair, his hips becoming suddenly hot to the touch, and Thor lets out a sharp gasp of pain, drawing his palms away from the scalding surface. “Let’s get something, ah, _straight_ , Thoo—”

“ _Thor_ ,” Thor corrects emphatically.

“I’m in charge here. You do what I say, and I let you mingle freely with the rest of the Sakaarians. You make _me_ happy.” Thor’s lips curve into an easy smile, and he flutters his blond eyelashes.

“At your _service_ , Grandmaster,” he says, all but simpering, and if the Grandmaster catches his sarcasm, he doesn’t comment on it. “What would you have me do?”

“Uh…” the Grandmaster seems thoughtful, then he falls past Thor, dropping back onto the bed. Leaning back on his elbows, his chin raised, he slowly spreads his legs, and Thor gets the silent instruction: he pushes up the surprisingly soft material that makes up the Grandmaster’s robes to bunch about his hips and thighs, and he raises his eyebrows at what he sees. The Grandmaster’s cock is an interesting thing, made up of four frilled segments, and he draws his fingers over the skin, feeling each segment pulse and twitch beneath his fingers. It’s foreign and strange, _distinctly_ alien, but Thor rather likes the sensation of it beneath his touch, and he dips down, dragging his tongue up the line his fingers had traced: the Grandmaster sighs, softly, spreading his thighs a little wider.

The Grandmaster tastes of the spring air of distant shores, a salted tang only a small part of the strange, earthy flavours that burst on Thor’s tongue, and he laves about the tapered head of the Grandmaster’s cock before taking it entirely in his mouth, dropping his mouth down and tightening his lips around the Grandmaster’s length. He hollows his cheeks, sucking slightly as he dips his head as far as he can go – the Grandmaster’s cock is mercifully short, but the bulb at the base of his cock is too broad for Thor to stuff into his full mouth, and when Thor hums his frustration, the Grandmaster _moans_.

“Gee, you’re pretty good at that,” he mutters, putting his hands in Thor’s hair, and Thor closes his eyes, enjoying the scrape of carefully groomed fingernails against his scalp: he bobs his head, taking the Grandmaster so that his head almost taps against Thor’s throat, then he draws back, coming off with an audible _pop_.

“Pass me a pillow,” Thor says, and the Grandmaster smacks him across the face, _hard_. Thor feels the heat burn on his cheek, and then he grins, savagely, _ferally_ , as he looks up at the Grandmaster’s face, and he feels the lightning crackle under his fingers where they grip at the Grandmaster’s thighs. The Grandmaster’s moan is desperate and stuttered, and he presses the pillow into Thor’s hands as soon as the energy dissipates. Thor lifts the Grandmaster bodily, shoving the pillow under his lower back, forcing his feet up onto the bed and spreading his buttocks wider. “Not used to being told what to do?”

“It’s one of the, ah, _perks_ of dictatorship.” Thor bites down at the Grandmaster’s inner thigh, and he feels the way the other man _tremors_ under the attention, arching into the pain with a gasp and a harsh whine of sound, and Thor laughs against the crook of his thigh. He dips lower, dragging his tongue over the Grandmaster’s entrance – his cock might be different, but _this_ part of him is the same as it is on anybody, and just flicking his tongue over the puckered skin is enough to make the Grandmaster hum. “You leave a mark?”

“Yes,” Thor murmurs, pressing his thumb into the indentations his teeth had left in Grandmaster’s thigh, just short of drawing blood, and the Grandmaster lets out a low “ _Hrrgh,_ ” which Thor assumes is a good sign. Grasping tightly at the other man’s thighs to keep him still, Thor dips his tongue deeper, flicking it over the entrance before pushing forward and thrusting as deeply as he can go, forcing the ring of muscle to give way to the clever wetness of his tongue. The Grandmaster’s left hand is still fisted tightly in Thor’s long hair, but the right hand is grabbing at the sheets beneath him, and the Grandmaster is letting out breathy little pants as Thor fucks him with his tongue alone, laving at his inner walls and tracing the muscle at his rim.

Thor draws back, bringing his fingers into his mouth and wetting them as much as he can, then he presses the two of them slowly into the Grandmaster, feeling the slight resistance – he’s a _little_ too dry, but if anything, the slight discomfort seems to make the Grandmaster ever _more_ delighted at Thor’s ministrations _._ Putting his lips around the Grandmaster’s cock once more, Thor hums with the flat of his tongue pressed against the Grandmaster’s head, and he feels the slight _burst_ of a little liquid on his tongue, tastes it berry-sweetness, so different from the spend of the Æsir. Thor matches the bob of his head with the thrust of his fingers, alternating the two rhythmic movements, and the Grandmaster just can’t keep still, writhing and gasping underneath Thor’s mouth, his hips stuttering up against him.

“Do that— Sparkles, do that thing again—” the Grandmaster gasps out, and Thor looks up at him, meeting his gaze as he continues to bob his head, thrust his fingers, crooking them just slightly to catch that spot that makes the Grandmaster _whine_. “Do it! Do it!” Thor hums again, disapproving, and the Grandmaster whispers, “I can’t believe I’m— _Please!”_

Lightning crackles hot from Thor’s fingers, pressed against the nub of the Grandmaster’s prostate, and when the Grandmaster comes, the segments of his cock seem to concertina momentarily, then the spend comes into Thor’s mouth in one huge burst of wetness, landing on his tongue and dripping down his throat. Thor swallows around the Grandmaster, still thrusting his fingers within him, working him through the tremors of his orgasm.

Finally, the Grandmaster’s grip loosens on Thor’s hair, his hands falling slack at his sides, and Thor leans back on his heels, wiping his mouth messily with his wrist.

“You ready to keep going?” Thor asks, and the Grandmaster lets out an inarticulate, garbled sound. Despite himself, Thor cannot help but be _proud_. Politics or not, he is good at what he does, and he laughs as he falls onto the bed beside this _obscene_ figure, beginning to undo the rest of his robe fastenings.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out [my Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com) for more, or if you want to send in a request.


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